Reluctant Hero
by Darkened Void
Summary: At the age of one Harry was left on his uncle's doorstep, but Vernon did not want to raise Harry Potter. His solution was to take him to an orphanage far away from him. Thanks to Dumbledore's actions nobody could find young Harry until much later in his life. How has being raised as a muggle affected Harry and how will it affect his fight against Voldemort? Harry/Fleur


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I do not make any money off of this story.

"_Italics = speaking French"_

Reluctant Hero

Chapter 1: The Kidnapping

The pub was nearly empty, so why the hell was it taking the bartender so long to fill up a glass of Ballantine scotch for him? Ah, France was playing England on the telly. It was typical, though. Even in Paris a small, hole-in-the wall pub would not have the greatest customer service. That was especially true when your team was doing so well in football against a rival.

It was too bad he preferred places that held few customers. He had never liked crowds, even as a child. A larger pub would have been preferable to most people, but something about small, dark, and dingy places had always attracted him. Perhaps it was because nobody would bother to ask him questions there. Maybe it was because no ditsy girls would approach him, trying to get him to buy them drinks. The most likely reason, however, would be because nobody would ask him about his scar.

It had always been the first thing people asked him: "Where did you get your scar?" Bloody unfair, it was. He could never answer that question because he honestly did not know. Hell, he did not even know when he had gotten it.

The young man looked at the reflection of his most hated attribute in the empty scotch glass. When he was younger his hair had been long so it would cover up the offending feature, but now his high and tight cut made it visible for the whole world to see.

Most people would not look twice at a scar because very few were honestly interesting, but his most certainly was. Every scar he had ever seen had faded either pink or white as time passed, but his had not. His lightning shaped scar still looked as if it had recently scabbed over even after nearly twenty-three years of life. It was strange, but he had accepted it a long time ago.

The amount of times he had been questioned about his scar had been far higher when he was a young child. Most children would have loved the attention, but he did not. He had no idea when or how it had happened. All he remembered of the incident were from his numerous nightmares, but they made no sense whatsoever. How did he remember anything of the incident? He had only been a year old or younger. The only memories of the event were of a woman screaming to not hurt him, a maniacal high-pitched laugh, and a flash of green light. Thankfully, that nightmare had tapered off over the years, but his parents had always been there to comfort him after the nightmares.

He had been adopted as a baby. Many children would see this as something horrible, but it had been a blessing to him. The people he called "Mum" and "Dad" had not been able to conceive so they adopted him not a month after he had been dropped off at Manchester Children's Home by his uncle. Sadly, his parents had never thought to ask about any of his biological family, and the orphanage had been closed for several years now.

The children he had gone to school with had picked on him for several years after they had found out he was adopted. He'd had no friends whatsoever. His suffering had been compounded because of his strange scar. His life had been a living hell until his sophomore year of high school.

After the third time he had been sent home early for being beaten up his parents had decided to enroll him in a local Jujitsu dojo to learn how to defend himself. It had taken a year of intense training, but after his bullies had tried to corner him on his first day of his sophomore year the entire school began to leave him alone. He had become a social pariah and had been suspended for a week, but at least he no longer had to deal with the abuse. It was not until he joined the military that he had found a place where he truly belonged and was accepted by his peers.

Shaking his head to rid himself of such depressing thoughts, he turned his head to once again glare at the bartender. He was still watching that damn game. He had already had four glasses, but he wanted one more for the road. Oh well, he needed to find a place to stay for a few days anyway. With a sigh, the young man brushed a piece of lint from his dress uniform before standing from his stool and heading out the door.

Smoke filled his lungs, relaxing him slightly, as soon as he stepped on the sidewalk outside the pub. It was a nasty habit he had picked up not long after he had joined his brothers in arms in the London Regiment, but he could not quit. He had tried several times, but life in the military had necessitated both smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. His dad, a cardiac surgeon, had complained many times that he had not raised a smoker. The younger man's reply that he had raised a Soldier and that Soldiers smoked had not amused his father.

He coughed slightly as he chuckled at the memory. Puffs of smoke rolled out of his mouth and nostrils in tandem with his laughter. He had just returned home for a week after twenty-six weeks of basic training and three months after joining the London Infantry Regiment. His father had "blown a gasket" as he had heard some American Soldiers in Afghanistan once say.

He had not seen his old man in nearly one and a half years. His eighteen month tour to Afghanistan had seen to that. He would have to visit his parents soon. He had missed them.

As he walked the streets of Paris he let his feet guide him. He was lost in his own mind. It was commonplace for him to lose himself to his thoughts while he smoked. It had been nearly three years since had been to the beautiful city.

Strange. He had never noticed that particular store.

It was called "La Cour Magique". When the hell had that been built? The store entrance was merely a powder blue door placed between two restaurants where an alley should have been. As strange as the random placement seemed it was even odder that everybody seemed to ignore the random door completely; at least until a woman wearing emerald green robes and a matching, pointy hat opened it and stepped through. How had nobody noticed her besides him? There had to be at least thirty others in the area around her. Her strange style of dress or her beauty should have brought her a great deal of attention, but it was as if she did not even exist to the people around her.

The young man in military dress contemplated the strange lack of attention brought upon this "Magical Court" as he took another long drag from his cigarette. He watched as ten more people looked at the two buildings beside the door, their eyes seemingly skipping over it. How was that possible? One person out of the last fifty noticed a randomly, and strangely, placed door that most likely lead into an alley. French architects would deign this as a scar on their beautiful city. They most certainly would not have built something of this atrocious design. Where was the beauty in it? The uniqueness?

Well, it certainly was unique, but not in a way that would be labeled as good. He had never seen anything like it. It also seemed that only people in robes walked through that door, or even noticed it to begin with. One of those strangely dressed people had walked out of the door, but nobody besides him had noticed the person. Sure, Paris was a large city, but even here a person as strangely dressed as that older gentleman would have garnered some glances. How did nobody besides himself notice him?

Answers to his questions would only be met beyond the powder blue door. He dropped the cigarette on the ground before approaching the door. He noted that people noticed him until he was within five feet of the oddly placed door. How was that possible? It was as if he existed until he was close to it then he all but vanished from both sight and memory of the people around him. He had seen a great deal of things while working for the British military, but this left him entirely gobsmacked. It was beyond understanding. It should not have been possible.

Shaking his head, he walked through the door and was met by darkness. Strange… Alleys were never covered to this entirety. Just what was going on here? The door opened behind him as a shadowy figure stepped in behind him.

"_New to Paris, are you?" _A masculine voice asked in French. _"Just keep walking forward. You'll step through that wall and La Cour Magique will be on the other side of it."_

"_That's not possible," _he replied. Thank God for his mother insisting on teaching him French. _"Walls are solid. I cannot just up and walk through one. Are you a touch mad?"_

The other man chuckled in amusement and gave him a push. Closing his eyes, the young man closed his eyes in anticipation of pain as he stumbled forward, but it never came. Strange… why were the insides of his eyelids red? It was completely dark in the alley.

"_Open your eyes."_ The masculine voice from before was now beside him, prompting him to open his eyes. _"Welcome to La Cour Magique."_

Had he gone back in time?

That could be the only explanation for what he was seeing.

A row of shops stood on either side of the man who had somehow just walked through a wall. As impossible as that seemed this was only slightly stranger. The shops were made of brick and plaster that had not been used by modern architects in several decades at least. None of the buildings contained a neon "Open" sign that most businesses now placed in their windows. The wooden signs hanging over the doors were obviously old, but only slightly worn. The apothecary to his left had been established in 1453. There were no businesses that old anymore! Wait… Why did an apothecary even exist?!

Men and women in robes were walking along a dark marble road, going in and out of stores. Some of the older men and women were dressed like it was still the 1800s! The robes they wore all seemed to be of different colors and a few were so fine that it seemed as if the social caste was based on personal wealth. That was still slightly true where he came from, but was no longer a large determining factor of worth.

Objects he had never seen were on display or floating in midair. His attention was drawn upward only to see several owls flying to and fro above him. It was only two in the afternoon!

He noticed several people had gathered around him to examine his clothing. They even had the gall to look upon him as if he were strange! Making sure his hand was clutched tightly around his suitcase, he lowered his head and walked straight through the crowd until he had travelled the length of the small "court" and was standing in front of a large building made of white marble called "Gringotts". He had not paid much attention to the shops around him, but at least this place looked respectable and normal.

Surprise crossed his features as soon as he stepped through the large double doors of the building. A row of high raised desks sat to either side of them. It was not the desks that drew his attention, but the ugly creatures sitting behind them sorting through large amounts of gold and various gems. The things were short and squat with unnaturally grey skin and very little hair. Their nails and teeth were all razor sharp. Their pointed nose and slightly sunken face would suggest that these creatures possessed very little intelligence, but their eyes gave away their cunning. They observed him and it felt to him as if they knew everything about him as soon as their eyes crossed over to him. How was that possible? The man was quite sure these creatures had never seen him before.

Very few things in this world made the ex-infantryman nervous or uncomfortable, but the creatures unnerved him more than most of the things he had ever seen before. They radiated danger in droves. He noticed a few of the creatures in armor had begun to slowly inch toward him from the sides. They were still a few feet away, though.

"Er, sorry… Wrong building and all." In his nervousness he had switched back to English. He smiled slightly as he nervously ducked his head and hurried out of the building a few seconds behind a jogging woman with platinum blonde hair wearing sapphire robes.

As he quickly stepped down the steps he was nearly thrown down to the ground at the bottom of them. He looked up and saw a large man in flowing dark robes half running toward the woman who was now nearly fifty feet from him.

Time seemed to slow down as his instincts told him that this man meant her harm. He had learned to trust those instincts his last year in the British Army. His now heightened senses alerted him to the fact that this man's hood was drawn, covering his face from all, while everybody else wore their hoods down. The man also obviously was going toward the woman with a purpose: he wanted to kill her. The glint of silver he saw in the man's right hand helped to solidify what his gut was telling him. He wanted this to be messy and public. This was a statement. It was time to act.

Without thinking any further, the ex-military man dropped his suitcase and sprinted toward the robed man. When he finally caught up to him the robed individual had raised the large dagger in his right hand above the woman while some people in the crowd caught his action and began to scream. The woman turned with a look of fear in her eyes. She had a sliver of wood in her left hand pointed at the robed man, but the ex-infantryman did not see how it would help her.

On instinct his left hand shot out and grabbed the man's right wrist and turned him until he faced him. He noticed the man's left hand shoot into his quickly to grab a piece of wood similar to the woman's. As he began to scream a word that made no sense the British man brought the dagger wielding hand down slightly and shot his right hand into the larger man's elbow. A sickening crunch and earsplitting scream was heard as a green light flew over the younger man's shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as the light hit a man and his body immediately crumpled.

The crowd once again began screaming as the British man let go of the robed man's broken arm, forcing another scream from him. Quick as lightning, the younger man reached out and broke the piece of wood in his left hand. He had no idea what it was, but it was obviously dangerous.

With a quick knee to the groin the robed man fell to the ground before an elbow smashed into his temple, knocking him out.

The British man looked over his shoulder and noticed the man who had been hit by the green light was staring at him with dead eyes. He dispassionately turned his head away. He had seen too many of his comrades to die in battle to be bothered by a complete stranger's death at the moment. He knew he would later hate himself for not being fast enough to save the man's life, but he had too much to do now. He needed to gather his suitcase and leave La Cour Magique before the authorities arrived. He did not need them in his life accusing him of vigilantism right now. Besides, the culprit and the woman would both be able to give testimonies. It was not as if they knew him, after all.

Without saying a word the young man turned and walked back toward the strange bank he had seen earlier. Hopefully, he would be able to cut through the crowd quickly. It was not as if he could blend in with anybody around here. In a few short seconds he had his suitcase back in his hand and turned around only to find the blonde woman from earlier standing in front of him.

"_Thank you very much for saving me, sir," _she intoned formally as she bowed her head toward him slightly. _"If you had not disarmed him and snapped his wand I would have died. I am indebted to you."_

"_You are most welcome,"_ he replied in very formal French. _"But think nothing of it. Excuse me, but I must be on my way."_

His formal use of French caught her by surprise. His mother may have been French, but she had not taught him how to speak a specific dialect since there were many different ones in her country. The woman in front of him now obviously knew he was not a native. He really needed to get out of here. He began to brush past her, but her hand caught him at the elbow. He could have kept going, but something told him that he should stop. After all, it was only natural for a person to wish to speak to the person who had saved their life. He would just have to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

He turned toward her and was momentarily stunned by her beauty. He had not noticed before, but being this close to her, how could he not? She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She seemed to almost glow in the afternoon light. He noticed her ice blue eyes, which were a beautiful shade in his opinion, studying his lightning shaped scar on his forehead. Shaking his head at his own stupidity, he glared hotly at her. Now she could give a much too accurate description of him.

"_I am sorry," _he bit out angrily, _"But I must leave now."_

"_You are 'Arry Potter."_ She did not ask. It was said confidently as if it were a fact. She gripped his elbow tighter when he began to step away from her.

"_You are incorrect. I have never heard of this Harry Potter."_ At least he had been able to be honest while he attempted to throw her off his trail. She would still insist this Harry Potter had disabled her attacker. Obviously he was a well-known person in her society. That made it all the easier for him to escape.

"_We have been looking for you for nearly twenty-two years, 'Arry."_ She made no reaction to his raised eyebrow. She was persistent. _"You must come with me."_

That was a laugh and a half. _"Why have you been looking for me for twenty-two years?"_ He smirked slightly and began to walk away from her as she opened her mouth to reply. _"Better yet, I don't even want to know. Nice to meet you, Miss."_

The young man jumped slightly when he heard several pops near the entrance of La Cour Magique. He saw at least five men and women wearing gold robes attempting to make their way over to him through the crowds. He was too late. How had they arrived so quickly? There had been no sirens, no warning that they were getting near.

He turned around to look for another exit, but his eyes only met the shimmering blonde hair of the woman who he had saved before he felt like he had been hooked behind the naval and forcibly drug into the sky. He closed his eyes as he spun through the air at unimaginable speeds. Luckily, it only lasted a few seconds before he crashed onto grassy ground.

Thankfully, he had only had a small lunch to vomit back up. Damn waste of fine scotch, though.

"WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?" The young man asked, not realizing he had once again switched to English. He looked at his now empty right hand. He must have dropped it during his insane trip to… Just where the hell was he?

It looked like he was still in France, but he knew he was a long way from Paris. Wait, he had been here before while he was still in the service. They were near Montpellier in southern France. He had been on guard duty a few of the days that the General and his family had vacationed on the beach here. He could not mistake this place for anywhere else. He stood up when his mind finally registered the faint noise of the sea to his south. It was not very far away at all. To the east was a medium sized cottage. Rolling hills surrounded the area as far as he could see. The grass was green and lush. The smell of salt would usually be welcome, but not in this situation.

"_I used a portkey to bring us to my home. Nobody from our world can find out you are actually alive yet."_

"_Well, Miss, thank you for getting me out of La Cour Magique, but it is high time I go back home."_ He knew where Montpellier was from here. It was only a few miles away. Surely, he could outrun her there. He was in peak physical condition.

He turned to the direction of Montpellier and began to sprint toward it so he could gain as much ground on her as possible.

The young woman had opened her mouth to reply when the young man had begun to run from her. Her scowl would have lit him aflame if it could have. With a small twitch of her hand she smiled with satisfaction when Harry fell to the ground and began to tumble down a hill. She walked slowly toward him, knowing he could not get far from her. When she finally did find him he was attempting to crawl away using his arms and his now bound legs. She had to admit that he was very stubborn.

"None of zat now, 'Arry," she admonished in English as she squatted down in front of the young man. She held her wand lazily in her hand, just out of his reach, as she stared at him angrily. "I am 'ere to 'elp you. You 'ave been gone for zo long 'Arry."

Standing up and flicking her wand once more, she levitated him beside her and began walking toward the house. "I do not wish to be rude Monsieur Potter, but I must insist zhat you come wiz me. Many dangerous people 'ave been looking for you."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I am not Harry Potter?! My name is Harry **Ravensdale**!" Harry struggled a bit, but could only move his arms. Somehow he was being levitated, but he had no idea how. It seemed no matter how hard he struggled against whatever was holding him up he could not escape it. He decided to be patient and wait for the perfect opportunity to escape.

As they entered the small sitting room of the cottage Harry watched the mysteriously strange blonde walk around the room. He was still floating on his back so it was awkward to watch her, but he was able to make out random clicking noises and soft, glowing lights. All the while, his kidnapper kept muttering under her breath indiscernibly. It was a few minutes before she kneeled beside him so she could look him in the eye.

"Monsieur Ravensdale, you 'ave my word zhat no 'arm will come to you by my hand as long as you do not attack me. I have sealed all of ze doors shut, glued any objects zhat could cause me 'arm to zheir base, and made all walls and windows unbreakable. You 'ave seen what I can do when you try to escape. I promise zhat it will be much worse if you attempt to 'arm me." Harry watched as she tapped her wand against her empty palm, thinking about her next words carefully. Her demeanor seemed extremely haughty to him. "I am only 'ere to give you information. You can do as you wish wiz it when we are zhrough speaking wiz one anozer. I can even make you forget all zhis 'appened if you so wish, but you must let me explain all I know to you. Do we 'ave an agreement?"

Harry wondered how she had accomplished all this without a serious amount of money, but this place looked as if she were of the upper middle class. There was no way she could afford what she was talking about, but it did seem as if she were acting under someone else's orders. He would have to tread carefully if he wanted to escape this situation alive. There was no way he would let somebody fish around inside his brain just so he would forget this. No, he wanted to remember who she was so he could come back and exact his revenge on his own terms.

"Fine, I won't try to hurt you, but if you attack me I will defend myself." The young raven-haired man glared petulantly at the woman in front of him. His eyes were almost alight with flame. "I have no idea who you are working for, but I will cooperate for now. I won't need to forget this. I don't want you or anyone else cracking my head open and fishing around in it."

She smiled slightly as she waved her wand, releasing him softly back on the ground. "Zhat would not be necessary. Please, have a seat. Winky."

Harry sighed in exasperation as he looked to the pair of cushioned chairs with a small table between them that she had indicated. He had not been able to see them when he was bound. "My name is not-"

A loud crack made him jump before a short, ugly creature wearing a light blue tabard around her thin body. At least, Harry assumed she was a she. The creature had slightly long, pointed ears and slightly protuberant brown eyes. Her nose was extremely thin and pointed, though it stuck out slightly farther than a normal nose. Her limbs were disproportionately long when compared to her torso. He noticed that she did not wear shoes and that she had sunk into a low bow in front of his kidnapper. What the hell was that thing?

"What does the Miss be needing?" The creature's voice was very high and squeaky. If Harry were around her enough he knew he would have a headache within minutes.

"Please bring tea for my guest and me, Winky," she replied with a small smile. "Zhank you."

It snapped its fingers before another loud crack sounded and it disappeared. How did it do that? Shaking his head, Harry walked over to one of the chairs and sat. It was quite comfortable, but he could not let his guard down until he knew the woman truly meant him no harm. She had not shown him that she was trustworthy, and she had a long, long way to go now after the events of the afternoon.

As if she had read his mind she placed her wand on the table between them before leaning back in her chair.

"I understand zhat you 'ave no reason to trust me, Monsieur P…Ravensdale." The blonde beauty smiled at him slightly even though he was still glaring at her in suspicion. She still seemed to think she was better than him somehow. "I feel I must apologize for my rudeness, zhe least of which being my liberal use of your given name. Zhat is most unlike me. My name is Fleur Delacour."

"Don't call me Monsieur Ravensdale; that would be my father." Harry crossed his arms as he stared at the annoying strip of wood in front of him. He did not know how she had bound him without ropes, but he was sure that strange instrument was how it was accomplished. "Why did you bring me to your home? If you wanted something from my family or me shouldn't you at least have taken me to a safe house? Shoddy planning, that is, Mademoiselle Delacour."

Fleur raised her eyebrow at both his intuitiveness and his blatant sarcasm. Sighing, the young lady figured she could not blame him. Though, she would have been much more frightened than he seemed to be at the prospect of having just been kidnapped by a stranger.

"Please, call me Fleur." Another loud crack made her companion jump once again. One look was all it took to know that he had taken almost all he could at the moment. She smiled patiently while Winky placed the tray of tea and biscuits beside her wand on the table. With another loud crack and a jump from Harry, the house elf was gone. "And just 'ow would you know zhat you are in my 'ome, 'Arry?"

"Easy, if a person is in any way perceptive." Harry shook his head in the negative when Fleur gestured toward the tea. He was too angry to drink anything, save scotch. "The only facts I needed to gather were your house, the décor of the house, and your…servant. The decorations suggest the person that lives here is a young woman not far into her career, though she is successful. While the home itself would cost a pretty penny it does not suggest the person who lives here is rich. You are obviously well educated so a well-paying career is obvious, but you are much too young to be rich. Thus, this home would be in your price range. Add that to the decorations and I can only surmise this is your house."

"Very good, 'Arry," she replied after taking a dainty sip from her tea. "And my servant?"

Harry smirked cockily at her. "Simple. Servants who bow only do so for the masters of the house or esteemed guests. I am neither and there is nobody else in this room."

Several moments passed in silence while the two young adults regarded one another. Both pondered the situation they were in. They both wanted information from the other, but had no idea how to go about extracting it. Fleur, it seemed, hid behind a wall of haughty sweetness while Harry was stubborn to the core. Their situation only increased the tension between them.

"I am impressed, 'Arry," Fleur said smoothly. To most, her lilt would be almost angelic, but to Harry it seemed as if she were spitting venom. He knew she was hiding things that were dangerous to him. He did not know how she knew such things, but his gut told him to be wary of her. "I was told if I ever got zhe chance to meet you I would be most surprised in what I found. 'Ow did you come to be so observant?" 

"I am not here to talk about me or my past, Fleur." Harry's emerald green eyes attempted to bore a hole into Fleur's. He could see the effect he had on her, though she hid her intimidation well. "You brought me here to tell me whatever you need to tell me, not for me to talk about myself."

"Oh, contraire, 'Arry. We are 'ere to speak about you." Fleur smiled once again at Harry, and he found his anger toward her multiplying rapidly. "Which reminds me."

Fleur reached out in front of her and grasped her wand. Harry's stomach dropped as he watched words form on her mouth, but he could not hear them. In his anger, the man with the lightning scar had dropped his guard for one second. Without a second thought, Harry lunged across the table as a bright light filled his vision, blinding him for the attack to come.

**A/N:** I have never read a story like this before, so before you say I got my idea or stole my story from you… I didn't. Anyway, this idea came to me while I was driving home from work one day and I just went with it. I'd like to know if it is worth continuing so please leave me some feedback! If I don't get any or if it is all negative I will scrap the idea. Thanks!


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